Legacy
by Ben Barrett
Summary: A oneshot from the point of view of the Undertaker after losing the streak at Wrestlemania XXX.


**A Note From Ben: This is the first story I've ever written for pro wrestling, and will probably be the only one. I went to Wrestlemania XXX last night, and when the Undertaker lost, I was so upset. The only thing that made me feel a little bit better was writing. I came up with this in the early hours of the morning while I was still stewing over something that never should have happened. I now share it with you. I hope you enjoy it. It's my tribute to the greatest professional wrestler to ever step foot inside the squared circle. Rest in peace, Undertaker. We love you.**

**Legacy  
**by Ben Barrett

_Cause this is my legacy, legacy, eh_  
_This is my legacy, legacy, eh._  
_There's no guarantee._  
_It's not up to me._  
_You can only see_  
_This is my legacy._

_-Legacy_, Eminem

The Taker was in the zone. He was going to put away the pompous ass named Lesnar for good. He would fall like all of the others, the streak would continue and the Undertaker would continue being the Phenom. He raked his thumb across his throat as he prepared to finish the job he had come here to do, the job he had done so many times. The caskets were lined up on the stage, all twenty-one of them, one for each of his opponents, and he intended to put Lesnar in the next one.

He couldn't deny that he was groggy, and perhaps that was where he made his mistake. He went to deliver the final Tombstone to Lesnar, but Lesnar reversed it. How had he managed to do such a thing? Before Undertaker knew it, he was on Lesnar's shoulders. Lesnar paraded him around the ring as if he were a trophy, then delivered an F-5, the third one he had given Taker tonight. Undertaker's world went completely black as soon as he hit the mat.

It was all over. When he woke up, Lesnar was gone as was his Wrestlemania streak. Lesnar had beat him. He had actually done what so many others had tried to do and failed. Taker was flabbergasted. He got shakily to his feet, as the crowd began to chant his name and thank him. He looked out at all of them, many of whom had been with him since the very beginning, and felt such deep gratitude for them. Even though he had lost, even though he had let them down, they still loved him. He would not say anything mushy or sentimental to them, though. That was not his way. He was not a man of many words. He would leave them as he had entered their lives so many decades before, with his head held high and his mouth shut.

He limped up the ramp and into the locker room. He thought maybe he would see Lesnar here, but he was nowhere to be found. He was probably off celebrating with his manager, Paul Heyman, toasting his victory and cutting up. Well, let him. He needed time alone at the moment anyway. He needed to think. Tonight marked the end of his era. He and the fans always knew that if the streak was ever broken, he would, in essence, be vanquished and would retire to a simple life in Death Valley. That day had finally come and it was time for him to fade into the shadows. He wasn't even sure he would be on RAW tomorrow night. They might or might not be planning a tearful farewell for him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be around if they were.

_Besides,_ he thought. _It would only delay the inevitable. My time has come, and lingering around would serve no purpose._

He sat down on the bench in front of his locker and put his head in his hands. After all these years, after all his struggles, after being hit with stairs and sledgehammers and having his face raked across the sides of cages, he had finally met his match. Lesnar had beat him fair and square, there was no doubt about that, but it still hurt. He had thought over the past several years, as it had gotten harder and harder to beat his opponents and he was almost put away by the likes of HBK and Triple H, that he was ready for retirement. He was getting slower and it was harder and harder for him to get up off the mat. Now that the time had finally come, it was very emotional for him. Wrestling was all he had ever known, and giving up something you're passionate about is never easy.

He heard the locker room door open and looked over. Triple H was standing there, looking at him with an expression of such sadness that he had to turn away. He couldn't bear to see those hurt puppy dog eyes. Triple H came over and sat down beside him. He had had a match with Daniel Bryan earlier that night, and it had been a good match, but he was dressed in his business attire again. All business lately, that one. He put his hand on Undertaker's back and sighed.

"We both knew this was coming eventually," Triple H said. "It was only a matter of time."

"Mind getting your hand off my back?" Undertaker replied, not looking at him. "I'm not in the mood."

"Look," Triple H said, removing his hand, "you should have stayed down when I told you to. Remember back at Wrestlemania 28 when you and I had our match? It was a great match, and I gave you everything I had, but you kept getting up. I kept telling you to stay down but you wouldn't listen."

"Is there a point to this?" Undertaker asked.

"Yes!" Triple H replied. "If you had stayed down when I told you to, you would have gone out with a lot more dignity. I respect the hell out of you, Taker, which is why I didn't want to do the match in the first place. I kept telling you no, but you insisted. I didn't want to be the one to end the streak, but if I had been, you would have gotten a lot more respect than you got tonight."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for starters, Lesnar didn't even shake your hand," Trip said. "As soon as he beat you, he got up and walked out. That's extremely disrespectful, considering who you are. He could have at least shaken your hand and showed the proper respect to someone who has been in this business as long as you have and has done the things that you have."

Taker said nothing, so Trip went on.

"Also, it hurts me to think that you were beaten by someone who doesn't even care," he said. "At least with Shawn and I, we realized the enormity of what we were trying to accomplish and treated it with a little reverence. Lesnar, though? No reverence. You meant nothing to him. He issued a general challenge for Wrestlemania, and you answered him. He didn't pick you, he didn't specifically target you. You were just another person challenging him. The streak meant nothing to him. He's just going to walk over you and set his sights on his next opponent."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Undertaker said. In all honesty, he had never wanted to talk about it, but the things Triple H was saying were making him uncomfortable. Triple H was right about everything. He should have gotten out while he had the chance. He should have retired after one of his many wins, perhaps last year after beating CM Punk, or should have stayed down when Triple H had the best of him. But he hadn't. He was the Phenom, and it wasn't in him to walk away. Whatever drove him to come back year after year, whether it was his passion for the business or his own stubbornness, would not let him rest in peace until he was beaten.

"Of all the people to go after, why Lesnar?" Triple H asked. "What possessed you to do something so reckless?'

"I said I don't want to talk about it," Undertaker replied, a little more firmly this time.

"Okay," Trip said. "We don't have to talk about it. But I want you to know one thing."

"What's that?"

"Nobody wanted to see you go out this way. Not me, not the fans, not Stephanie or Vince. It's almost a crime the way this all ended, and I want you to know I'm sorry."

Taker again said nothing.

"It seems like you need a little space right now," Trip said, "but you have my number if you ever need anything. Call me sometime."

Then he was gone, and Undertaker was alone. He began to change out of his ring attire and put his costume away. He packed up the big hat and the coat, probably for the last time. These would be given a special place of honor at his home in Death Valley. This thought only made his sadness even deeper. To think of his costume put on display in some glass case or something instead of being seen by millions of fans across the world seemed almost like burying a loved one. You put them in a box, place them out of sight, and move on with your life.

_ Can I move on with my life, though?_

He had often wondered over these last few years, as it became obvious the end was coming, what he was going to do with himself afterward. The retirement thing was a given, but maybe he didn't have to be active in the ring. Sargent Slaughter had worked in the business end of wrestling for a long time after disappearing from the ring. Perhaps he could work with developing talent or help in one of the company's training facilities. That actually sounded rather nice. He could still be a part of the business he loved, but wouldn't be playing such a physically demanding role.

Only time would tell what he actually did, though. He just didn't like the idea of staying at home and sitting on his haunches. Even though his role as the Phenom was over, he still loved the business and wanted to be a part of it. He sometimes invested in real estate and worked on other projects, but it wasn't the same. His heart would always be with the squared circle.

When he was finished changing and packing, he closed his locker and walked to the door with his duffel bag over his shoulder. He took one last look back, sighed and walked out. He walked down the hallway toward the Superstar entrance, where he knew that he could get into his limousine without being harassed by anyone. It wasn't that he didn't love the fans, but he didn't want to face them right now. He knew he would have to eventually. He ran into fans all the time. One day he would be out somewhere and some little kid would come up to him and ask him why he had let Lesnar beat him. In all honesty, he hadn't. It had been just as much a shock to him as it had been to everyone else. How could he face all of these kids who looked up to him and tell them that he had been beaten because of his own refusal to simply let well enough alone? Or maybe it wouldn't even be a kid. Maybe it would be some long-time fan who was upset and would want answers that the Undertaker could not give. Maybe in time he would be able to deal with that, but not tonight, not with the memory so fresh.

He was about halfway out of the building when he was suddenly face-to-face with John Cena. He had hated Cena when he'd first met him, because he had shown Taker no respect. It's traditional in wrestling for new talent to shake hands with the seasoned veterans and introduce themselves. It's a sign of respect. Cena hadn't done that with Undertaker, and Taker had taken it personally. Taker had later beat Cena's ass for this mishap, and it had taken him a long time to warm up to him. At this point in his career, he didn't mind Cena so much and actually thought he had a lot of talent, but wasn't keen on talking to him.

"What is it?" Undertaker asked. "I'm in a hurry."

"I just want to let you know how sorry I am about what happened out there," Cena said. "It shouldn't have happened like that."

"Yeah, well," Taker said, "it's on the books now."

"I know," Cena replied, "but it's still messed up."

"Is there a point to this, Cena?"

"Actually, there is," Cena said. "I know that when you and I met, I never shook your hand and you took it personally. I'm sorry about that. I was young in my career and kind of stupid. I want you to know I have serious respect for you, and I'm sorry to see things end this way."

He stuck his hand out. Taker looked at it for a second, then slowly took it and gave it a shake.

"Thank you," he said. "You've grown up a lot."

"Yes, I have," Cena agreed. "It's like the shirt says: hustle, loyalty and respect. You had all three. A lot of those people out there hate me. They boo at me. Sometimes they throw back the keepsakes I throw to them. But I'm gonna keep working at it. If I can gain half of the respect and loyalty you have from these people, I'll consider myself doing pretty good."

He walked off then, leaving Undertaker staring after him. Cena had a long way to go if he wanted to earn the kind of respect Taker had. He had watched Cena's match against Bray Wyatt earlier, and had heard the crowd booing him and cheering for the Wyatts. That was a really bad sign. He wished the kid well, though. Hopefully one day he would be some kind of phenom himself. It could happen.

He walked out of the building into the muggy New Orleans air. He was headed back to his hotel for the night, and then he would decide whether to stay in Nawlins for RAW or just catch a plane back home. If he decided to go home and the Powers That Be had planned something for him, a simple phone call would clear it up. He was long past the point where he was bound by a contract to show up. At this point, if he told them he was done and just wanted to go home, they would probably let him.

_And if I decide to go home, I have to decide what I'm going to do when I get there._

He climbed into the limo and told the driver to take him around the place. The car made a loop around the Superdome, which Hogan had earlier referred to as the "Silver Dome", much to the chagrin of the fans, and Taker took it all in. Inside, another match was going on. It was probably the main event. They would be cheering for Daniel Bryan, urging him to win. Perhaps he should have taken Bryan as his final opponent. Certainly Bryan seemed to be rising in popularity. The "Yes Movement" seemed to be taking the WWE Universe by storm. Having his last match with Bryan might have given him the opportunity to pass the torch. Well, that was in the past now. No use dwelling on it. There would be no Wrestlemania 31 for him, no match with Bryan with his streak on the line. Lesnar had taken everything from him. All he could do now was accept it, just as the fans had to learn to accept it, no matter how difficult it was.

The Undertaker had finally been beaten.

His time in the spotlight was over.

It was time for him to rest in peace.


End file.
